


to feed the body

by garam



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Cooking as Coping Mechanism, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Slavery, M/M, Monologue, Post-Castlevania (Cartoon) Season 3, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garam/pseuds/garam
Summary: Months after rescuing Hector from Styria, Isaac rediscovers a small pleasure.
Relationships: Dracula & Isaac Laforeze, Hector/Isaac Laforeze
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	to feed the body

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Dianxi Xiaoge's cooking videos [https://www.youtube.com/c/滇西小哥dianxixiaoge](https://www.youtube.com/c/%E6%BB%87%E8%A5%BF%E5%B0%8F%E5%93%A5dianxixiaoge)

Hector often said domesticity suited him, and, well, Isaac could understand what he meant. Escaping to Rhodes was a small victory for him. His back had mostly healed, and he abandoned his whip along with the rest of his army in Styria. He was a freed man—as Hector said, but, as Isaac knew first-hand, liberation was often the most painless part. 

With his crusade abandoned, Isaac found himself with more time on his hands than ever. He feels antsy, like he should be doing something. Something _hard_. A challenge of sorts. Instead, he finds himself spending most of his time praying, flipping through scripture, and watching Hector garden from the porch, in his own little rocking chair. 

And cooking. Right, he cooks as well. 

Right along the rafters hung two freshly plucked pheasants, their meat darkening in the sun. In about two days time, they would feast on rice smothered with the cured fat, perhaps with garlic stems from the market. And if they were lucky, they would be rewarded with a ripe bounty from Hector’s favorite plum tree for dessert. 

Cooking for someone else again was odd, but a good kind of odd. Frankly, Isaac expected it to be unpleasant, given the last time he was expected to provide meals—when he was young and still in bondage. Back then, his duties were mostly consigned to the kitchen. His master ordered from a worn book of recipes unfamiliar to Isaac’s tastes. Dishes of simmered grain, deep fat fried pig jowls, chickens’ eggs pickled in a potent mix of dried mace and black vinegar. Isaac could never fully grasp any of the dishes he clumsily prepared and consumed during those isolated years. His master drank ale like it was water and covered everything Isaac served him in a cloyingly thick cream sauce. He relished in it, but Isaac found he couldn’t stomach the richer stuff. For him, eating became nothing more than a necessity, and cooking a punishment. He faced numerous cuts and oil burns and his master’s stinging backhands when food arrived cold, burnt, or undercooked.

It wasn’t long after he became a runaway that he was faced with the responsibility to cook for himself. It overwhelmed him at the start. Isaac still remembered the first uncertain days he spent wandering the slums of sodden villages, too proud to beg and living off the same fist-sized bag of dried beef for several days. And like everything, it was only after he had met Dracula that he learned otherwise. 

He remembered he and Dracula had spent a whole afternoon like gastronomers, creating a bounty of food for Isaac’s winter. Jars of lemons fermented in sea salt and dried chilis, cloth bags of fresh goats’ yogurt strung from the eave to drain, mats of dried lamb shanks to be rehydrated in hot soups and stews...

“It’s a privilege to feed oneself,” Dracula had told him, “Nurturing yourself on your own terms is one of the few testaments to a freed man.”

And even years after his friend's initial departure, Isaac still went through the same motions. He grew what he needed rather than expose himself in local markets. He ate what was ripe and preserved what was left. He learned to be thankful for every meal, to be mindful of how it got there, to never indulge or take luxuries for granted. But even then, Dracula would make frequent visits to his abode, carrying gifts and flavors from far away that Isaac had never dreamed of—things like candied oranges, bitter wines, and soft, pillowy loaves of buttery bread that would melt on Isaac’s tongue. 

Those exotic tastes were nothing compared to the pastoral meals he prepared now. A spread of charred eggplant and parsley on rye bread, Hector’s radishes, a thin stew of fish and mint. The sun was starting to set, and Isaac wipes his hands on his rag, satisfied. 

They grow things now too, Hector and him. Corn in the summer, parsnips in the winter. Out back, they lay mats of figs to dry over their roof, and they pickle olives in the cellar. Hector spends more time outdoors in the garden than he does inside—which is fine by Isaac. He was always quieter after Styria. He looks out the window to see Hector throwing small handfuls of their dried corn to grateful crows. Halfway through his third handful, he notices Isaac and grins sheepishly. 

Against his better instincts, Isaac smiles back. He opens the window and lets the cool breeze flood in. 

“Meal is ready.” He says, knowing it is one of many to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this lil drabble <3  
>   
> \- Hector & Isaac's food mostly based on the Mediterranean w/ a focus on Moroccan cuisine (combined w/ what was seasonally available in Greece during the summer)  
> \- Slaver's food loosely based on a general medieval European diet (boiled grains, fried meats, pickled foods, dairy)


End file.
